Broken Bits Utopia

Despite the voices in my head bellowing, "Stay home and watch the Law & Order marathon!" and "They will find you a pale imitation of your humorous, amazing, riotous blog persona!", I ventured with my tiny family in tow to Londinium on Saturday to meet with some of my favourite rock and roll blog stars.

The only person I've met in person from blogging is My Cheese Hand, Molly, and even though she totally used me for sex and candy when we met we're still firm friends. She barely blogs anymore, so loved up and with a mind foggy with the bayou humidity is she.

You would think that after having such a delightful experience with a blogger, that I would be very keen to meet up with other blog denizens. However, my belief that my blog self is a woman far cooler than my real self leads me to fear any potential meet-ups. On my blog and on Twitter I'm all, "Cup my boobs you hot bitches, wooooot!", and yet in real life I'm the mute Cousin It look-alike whose eyes dart back and forth constantly looking for the nearest escape route if things get too heavy.

Thankfully, I talked myself off the ledge and went to see these marvellous women. I knew I would regret it if I didn't. This gathering has restored my confidence in blog meet-ups, so soon I shall be issuing invitations to bloggers far and wide to come to my fair seaside town. I still feel as if the bulk of my time was spent mumbling about how depression is a total drag maaaaan, laughing at other peoples' witticisms and convincing my child that no, that immaculate chocolate cake on Thalia's table is not in fact begging for your snot and saliva-covered finger to pierce it. Despite these reservations, I can't think of better company in which to be that way.

Thalia, unsurprisingly, was an excellent host. The spread she put on was amazing, and had I "known" everyone a wee bit better I just may have slathered myself with her lentils. No, that's not a euphemism. Those were some damn good lentils. I had the pleasure of meeting the absolutely adorable Pob, and even H made an appearance. Pob was very well-behaved, and as mentioned by others, has such gorgeous eyes. Thalia told me that Pob's hair was a bit mullet-like but spared from full-on mulletdom by curls, and I'm on record saying that this is exaggerated. I know mullets, being from Central Pennsylvania and having birthed a child with the mullety-est mullet that ever mulleted. This kid's hair was far too shiny, thick, and appropriately growing to be a mullet.

I confess it was quite odd to finally meet Thalia, as we have known each other in this sphere for years upon years now. I got to tell her in person how grateful I was for all the wisdom she has shared with me in that time. I mentioned my odd protocol for IUI 4, and damn if that woman doesn't remember the specifics! She's amazing.

Hairy Farmer Wife is not the least bit hairy, I am pleased to report. She does have lovely chestnut-coloured hair on her head, but she wasn't coughing up hairballs or anything dramatic like that. The Hairy Farmer hisself was present for some of the festivities, likely a bit shell shocked at our odd little infertile gathering. Luckily for him he missed the more...frank segments of our discussions. Harry Hairy is also not hairy, and in fact has an enviable mop of blond hair to sniff when cuddling. The poor confused child wanted to be picked up by me time and time again, which I enthusiastically welcomed. I haven't told you kids this yet, but the uterus, she is a'twingin'. Being able to cuddle with a small person who doesn't kick or shout, "I don't want to hit you Mum!" is an experience worth savouring. Hairy Farmer Wife is known for her baking skills, and she did not disappoint. I can't even tell you how delicious her cakes were. If it was appropriate to cake hump in polite company, I totally would have.

Here is where it gets freaky. May was there, as was her H (whose name I know but I will not tell you, so there) for a bit. I'd never met May before Saturday, nor has she posted any photos of herself on her blog. However, when I spotted her she was exactly how I would picture her. Exactly. Either her powers of self-description are amazingly astute, or she has been sneaking into my bedroom at night and haunting my dreams. Those are obviously the only two possibilities. This woman speaks like she writes, which is to say, I felt like a drooling simpleton half the time. Teach me your words May, teach me your words! I admit I was worried about May because I can't imagine that being surrounded by little ones when you're in the midst of sorting out your reproductive future is much fun, but she handled it with standard May-like aplomb. Her blog post about it made me smile. I am so relieved.

The circle was complete with Helen. Helen is another person whose blog I have read for yonks, and though she only lives about a 2 minute walk from my house we'd never met. Oh, we've exchanged many a snarky and foul-mouthed email over the years about people and things we hate, but no journeys had been made. Naturally Helen brought the twins, Nick and Nora, and sweet jesus are those kids friggin' cute. They are twins of a certain age, yet they barely made a sound, and they didn't beat up on each other at all. I am in awe of their restraint. Helen added to the culinary wonder of the day with a couscous dish that along with the lentils, I could have shoved into my gaping maw ravenously without a spare thought to decorum. I would also like to add that Helen looks like a baby. Seriously, I think she's 12.

My own child somehow managed to not be a complete troll and only had a series of minor infractions on the day. P was in love with Thalia's bathroom for some inexplicable reason and spent at least an hour running in and out of it, shutting the door, opening it, shutting it, opening it. Over and over. She also, as mentioned in May's post and HFW's post about the meet-up, begged for other peoples' cake. Yes, she did say please, but when her mother is also feeding her cake, it's a touch inappropriate to go around scamming cake off other people too. P is a bit of a manners fiend, and gave Harry a book to read. When he graciously took it off her, she lectured him, "You should say thank you!" No doubt Harry was thinking that the notorious cake-stealer should climb down off that high horse she's so fond of.

I know reading about a social event you weren't a part of is like being in a room full of child bores you don't know rabbiting on about the accomplishments of their children, but I'm basking in the post get together glow, alright?

The lovefest endeth here.